


I'll Be Seeing You (It's Been A Long Time Coming)

by Anansi_galpals, GuenVanHelsing



Series: Timelines Reunited [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU where Carol used the glove instead of Tony, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And no one died (except Thanos), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Fix-It, In Which canon is pretty much ignored, It's just pining, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn, Steve is a troublemaker since day one, Tags will be updated as chapters are posted, The Rat was the real hero of Endgame all along, This is just Sam Appreciation fic, huge huge canon divergence, idiots to lovers, that's the whole fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-02-16 12:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18691063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anansi_galpals/pseuds/Anansi_galpals, https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuenVanHelsing/pseuds/GuenVanHelsing
Summary: In Which Peggy Gets Her Promised Dance. ft. apartment shopping, gramophones, and a Rather Large Rat.





	1. Swept off your feet

**Author's Note:**

> In true fix-it fashion in this fic, none of our heroes die in Endgame because Carol used the infinity stone glove to save the world and brought Nat back as well as all the others. 
> 
> And here's [a playlist of some classic jams](https://open.spotify.com/user/9wngaj3q4p8jj6t8j8v7ui8fh/playlist/4mJzMHGymvfXIEr0xqY5DG?si=8vRHbLdaSHqdg0FHU0Wo7w/) to accompany the fic:
> 
> Enjoy!

 

_“The world has changed and none of us can go back. All we can do is our best, and sometimes the best thing we can do is start over."_

\- Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter, Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

 

 

 

“You’re going back, aren’t you.”

It wasn’t a question, and Steve shouldn’t have tensed as much as he did, but he _hadn’t heard Bucky enter the room._ And he was still damned jumpy after all the shit that had happened in the past few days.

He could hardly believe that the entire team had escaped with their lives.

“To the past,” Bucky continued, settling into the chair across the table from Steve, who continued to mechanically work his way through an entire container of box mac n’ cheese. “To return the stones.”

“Yeah, Buck,” said Steve, and something flashed across Bucky’s face when he glanced up from his plate. “Someone’s gotta put ‘em back, and Hank Pym hasn’t made enough new Pym particles for it to be a team journey. It’s gotta be solo.”

“Gonna go have that dance, huh?”

Steve’s fork froze halfway to his open mouth. “You knew?”

“Wouldn’t take a genius to figure that out,” said Bucky, and there was a strange smile on his face, familiar but _false_ all at once.

“I’ll come back,” said Steve. “After.”

“After you’ve lived your life there, huh?” Bucky’s strange smile quirked, almost into a real one, and he stole Steve’s water glass. “You always kept her picture in your compass, Stevie. Ain’t that hard to connect the dots.”

Bucky didn’t linger long, poking fun at Steve’s meal — he ate the rest of it when Steve didn’t finish, though — and snitching a can of pop from the fridge, and then he was gone, off to wherever he’d been lurking with Sam pretty much since they’d arrived.

Steve hadn’t told him how good it was to see him, how good it was to see him looking _well._

Bucky hadn’t asked him to stay.

He hadn’t _expected_ him to, but—

He kind of wished Bucky had asked him to stay.

 

……..

 

 

Bruce Banner did his job as efficiently and as unassumingly as ever. Solder-calloused hands fiddled with buttons and wires and other parts of the time travel equipment that Bucky couldn't even attempt to name in preparation of Steve's jump. His eyes were focused. The jump if it went well- _when_ it went well, would only take a few seconds for him. He wasn’t concerned.

Sam Wilson was there, the ever-constant friend. He was there to make sure nothing went wrong and to wish a short goodbye and goodluck to Steve, along with Bucky. Or that's what Sam had assumed. Sam didn't know about Peggy; or more accurately, didn't know the _extent_ of Peggy, how much she and Steve were intertwined still.

He wouldn't have guessed why Steve was really going back, and why it was that Steve had specifically asked Sam to be there when he returned.

He didn't know how much Peggy had stayed. In his compass, in his past, and to Bucky's grief, in his _heart_.

But Bucky had guessed.

Steve, the earnest expression on his face and the infinity stones were fixed in place. His lips twitched into a strange sort of smile when he caught Bucky's eye. It seemed to say: “ _I'm sorry, I have to do this, you of all people know how badly I need to follow my heart.”_

Bucky returned it because of course he did. He'd followed Steve to the end of the line and he could hardly fault the man for doing the exact same thing.

“Don't do anything stupid ‘til I get back.” Steve said. Bucky wanted to cry. 

“How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you.”

And Bucky can't take it anymore, not when all he's thinking of is that conversation so many years ago that he's replayed back so many times after the worst day of his life.

He hugged Steve before he could think on _that_ too much.

“I'm gonna miss you, buddy,” Bucky murmured into Steve's shoulder. He wasn’t sure the latter had heard it until Steve responded, just as softly.

“It's gonna be OK, Buck.”

Steve stepped back and Bucky smiled at him; his chest full of lead.

Captain America stepped on the platform; ready to save the world again and dammit Bucky wasn’t ready to watch him leave _again_. His mind flashed to army greens and plums and life on the run and he could hear Stevie's voice in his head: ” _You're just being dramatic, Buck. I'll be back in a tick.”_ But all he could think of is what he would do if Steve changed after he went back? What if he took one look at Peggy and decided to settle down with a nice gal. He wanted Stevie to be happy, _of course he did,_ but surprisingly, the greatest assassin in a century was a coward when it comes to things that matters and hadn't even _told_ him yet...

“ Three… Two… One—”

And Steve was gone. Along with Bucky's last chance to tell him.

He just hoped Steve wouldn't stay away too long.

 

…………………

 

Steve landed with the grace of a super-soldier who isn't all that keen on rides that seem to forget that the laws of gravity exist (see: Coney Island.) From the posters tacked onto soot-covered brick he confirmed it to be 1940s America. It's pretty easy, after all, to recognise your own face staring back at you.  

He let out a breath — here he was, in the past.

The time he’d desperately longed for ever since SHIELD had pulled him from the ice.

He was _home._

Steve checked his wristband, verifying that he had enough Pym particles for the rest of his trip, and tapped it to remove his nanite suit. It was too modern, too _different —_ he was lucky to have landed in an abandoned alley, not to be seen by anyone.

More than anything, he was grateful that he had no team at his back, or in his ear, checking on his every move. He had one more mission, now that all the stones were back in their correct times, and he didn’t want his team breathing down his neck for this one.

After all, this one was his promise to keep.

He knew the route by heart. Knew it like the patterns of lines on his palm or the exact shades of both Bucky Barnes and Peggy Carter's hair. He followed narrow streets out of town until he was tracing the well worn pavement in the suburbs to her house, right to the worn porch in front of the peeling white paint of the walls, accented by yellowing plants in colourful pots littered up the steps and across the porch.

Steve hesitated.

There was a car in the drive, the old kind that was the _new_ kind to him, still, even after living so long in the future, with dirt streaks up the sides and coating the tire rims. That was a car that had _been_ places.

There was music, drifting softly from the window, opened just a crack, and he remembered that tune, had danced to it many a time by himself in the empty flat when he wasn’t working and Bucky had been.

He’d dreamed about dancing with Peggy to that song, once, in the dream that Wanda had pushed into his head.

He knew that song, beat by beat.

Steve lifted his hand and knocked on the door.

There was a fraction of a second, a moment when he wished Peggy wouldn't answer. So that every thought of her in that precious bubble of ‘ _what could have been’_  remained an open-ended possibility. When everything went to hell he would always have Peggy, waiting for him at the end of the line.

Peggy opened the door and he didn't know how he was going to say goodbye.

“Steve…?” She held the door ajar and her brown eyes were wide with something fond and pleased and surprised.

“You're late,” she said.

Steve took a breath.

“The lovely Agent Carter owes me a dance. But I'm conflicted, see, because I've kept her waiting an awful long time and a dynamite gal like that deserves to dance with a gentleman, not a guy who missed a date.”

He twisted his lips into a sheepish smile.

“You think a gal like that could forgive me?”

Peggy smiled at him and if he didn't know any better, he would have said he could have seen her eyes misting up a little at the edges.

“I'm sure she wouldn't begrudge the man who saved the world a dance. Even if his tardiness leaves something to be desired.”

“How very generous of you, ma'am.” Steve said.

She took his hand and pulled him inside.

Peggy's living room is—

Different than how he’d imagined it.

He hadn’t realized he _had_ imagined one, for her, until he was standing there, listening to the soft music and feeling her hand slip from his as she crossed the room to mess with the record. “Wait,” he said, and she paused, glancing up at him. “Leave that one on.”

She smiled, turning the volume up a bit, and before Steve knew it they were dancing.

They were finally dancing, together in her living room, her in a smart suit and skirt and him in his borrowed — stolen — 1940s clothes.

He’d dreamed of this.

Not the stolen clothes, and certainly long before he’d towered over her, but—

He’d dreamed of this, so many times. Playing back through his mind all of his memories of Bucky teaching him to dance the latest, coolest dances, he’d _dreamed_ of dancing with Peggy Carter in his arms, finally together.

They danced, slow and swaying, and it was everything he’d dreamed of.

Peggy tilted her head, looking up at him, and he kissed her — leaned in slowly, to see if she would consent, and her eyes closed as he pressed his lips to hers.

There were tears in her eyes when they broke apart, and there were tears in his.

“The world has changed, hasn’t it?” she whispered, and he should’ve known she’d guess — how could she not, when she’d always been the smartest person he’d ever met? “You’ve changed with it, Steve.”

“I’ve been doing my best,” he said quietly. “You’ve started over, haven’t you?”

She smiled up at him, and they were still swaying gently to the music, holding each other, but the distance was there — had _always_ been there, since she’d opened her door to him — and he knew it.

“So have you,” she said, and he managed a smile. He _had_ started over, hadn’t he? He hadn’t had any hope of ever reaching the past again, of living out his life _here,_ in the era he’d lived most of his life in, yet here he was.

“Guess I have.”

This life? This rundown house with the paint tins in the corner, and the clean brushes obviously not yet touched? This house, this life, this wonderful _woman—_

They weren’t for him.

Not anymore.

Steve's gaze fell upon a polished wooden photo frame on Peggy's mantelpiece. Two women, both brown haired with their arms around each other and smiles on their faces so bright that Steve knew instantly how much they meant to each other. Peggy followed his gaze and hummed when she realised he only recognised one of them.

“That's Angie and me,” she clarified softly, and the pure affection in her voice and the familiar way she looked at the photograph told him all he needed to know.

“I have one of me and Buck like that.” He’d gotten a copy back from the museum, after the exhibit had closed.

“I know,” she smiled at him then and he had never loved her so much than in that moment because she _understood._ And he knew that even though the both of them had moved on, there would always be a fixed part of him that stayed Peggy Carter because there were only a few people like her and once you found them you shouldn't ever let them go.

He’d let Bucky go, once. He’d let him down, and he’d _fallen,_ and his best friend had suffered because of it.

“I have to go,” he said, because he had a _mission_ again, he _knew_ what he needed to do, and the smile she gave him was soft and bittersweet, full of all the missed chances they had had.

“I know,” she said again, and embraced him, with all the warmth and friendship he didn’t _deserve_ for having left her behind all those years ago.

He’d left someone else behind, and there was still a chance—

“Go,” she said, and she smiled again, and this was goodbye.

He wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her.

“Thank you,” she said, and somehow he understood that it wasn’t just a thank-you for the dance, for keeping his promise, but for something more. He didn’t understand it entirely, but he knew she would go on to become greater than she’d ever have been in his shadow, and he understood.

“I’ll always love you,” he said, because it was important that she _know_ this, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears as she turned to lower the volume on the record.

Steve took his dismissal as it was and left, boots heavy on the creaky porch.

“Hey, Blondie, you waiting for someone?”

Steve turned, and there was the woman from the photo, bright and full of life and _love,_ and he offered her a polite smile, ducking his head, hoping she didn’t recognize him. “No, ma’am, just on my way out,” he said. “Someone’s been waiting for _me.”_


	2. Takes two to tango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for more ~feelings~

Same decade, different year,  _ far _ different place. 

Steve had almost forgotten how goddamned  _ cold _ it had been, out on the front lines, after the sun had gone down and even their meager fire couldn’t keep them all warm. 

Those had been the nights Steve had been grateful for Bucky at his back, when they both had a reprieve from being on watch. 

When Bucky had still smiled at him, a little strained but still  _ Bucky, _ and—

Steve missed him. 

He missed  _ his _ Bucky. 

The one he’d grown up with, the one he’d fought beside, the one who had stuck with him, always. 

He remembered the way Bucky had looked at him, strapped to that god-awful table in that  _ god-awful  _ place. The way his eyes had found him; full of awe and gratitude. The way he was certain he had looked back at Bucky all those years ago after every fight his friend would pull him out of. 

Steve had changed, but Bucky had stayed the charming, brave,  _ kind  _ man that he had always been. 

Even if war had worn those optimistic edges down a touch. 

Bucky had thrown everything he had into following that little guy from Brooklyn who hadn't learned to stop picking fights too big for him all the way into his seventies.

And not once did he complain.

Not when it rained for straight days and they were  _ sure  _ they would catch trench-foot.

Not when Dugan caught a bullet through his hat and wouldn't stop complaining for  _ days,  _ but everyone knew that it was his way of hiding how shaken he was at the prospect of coming so close to light's out. 

Bucky kept his smile and the rest of the Howling Commandos’ cheer afloat, even when Gabe slipped on a rocky crag and almost tumbled down an embankment straight into the Nazi lines with only the superhuman speed of Captain America to stop him, and pull him into the woods to escape.

Captain America might have been the tabloid hero even back in those days, but  _ Bucky _ had been the reason Captain America and the rest of his commandos had woken up in the morning to fight Nazis another day. Bucky followed Captain America, and the Howlies? 

They followed  _ Bucky. _

Steve stopped, just at the tree line, out of sight of his old unit, struck by a sense of  _ longing _ for the war the be over, for all of them to reach home safely. 

He knew it wouldn’t pan out that way. 

He hadn’t known  _ then. _

And he knew — as much as he understood Tony’s rambling explanation of time travel — that changing things in the past would only create an alternate timeline, not alter the future of his. 

But—

Maybe— 

Just maybe— 

If he could see his Bucky again— 

See if some of those never-spoken feelings were reciprocated—

What then...? 

If Steve wanted to stay hidden then he'd have to find something to cover that mildly outlandish suit of his. Luckily, he knew where Dugan kept the spare greatcoats. 

And then, somehow, he'd catch Bucky alone and tell him and _if all went well—_

He felt his breath leave him all at once. It was  _ dizzying _ , this decision.

If all went well—

_ Well then... _

The possibilities hit him like a matchstick to the mind.

 

…………..

 

The best friend to America's sweetheart and war hero, James Buchanan Barnes woke up in a cold sweat every night he spent in his roll mat, camped in canvas military tents after roughly the second month he spent on the front lines. 

In the mornings, warmed by the dampened heat of a campfire after rain he would try to will away the vague memories of whatever nightmare had been his entertainment the previous night, but he'd make sure to shoot a grateful smile at whoever it was dishing out the rations that day all the same. 

He rolled out of from under his jacket, too warm even with the chilly air, and waved to Gabe — still on watch — as he headed into the trees, hoping a short walk would help clear his head and maybe ease the nervous jitters that made his hands shake and his heart race at the slightest sound. 

He was so  _ tired. _

Keeping up morale for the rest of the Howlies took most of his energy, over the bare minimum that kept him trudging along upright, a smile on his face when anyone looked too close. 

He couldn’t let them — let  _ Steve _ — see him breaking. 

Things were—

Different. 

_ Bucky _ was different. 

He could hear a lot better, now. And smell, and taste, and  _ see  _ — pretty much all his senses were clearer, but in the kind of too-clear that was too sharp and overwhelming to be of any use. 

Didn’t harm his aim any, though. 

“Who’s there?” he growled, because he’d counted heads in bedrolls before leaving their ramshackle camp, and he was not alone in those woods. His fingers were wrapped tight around his gun, finger cocked at the trigger.

“It’s just me.” 

He knew that voice, but it sounded— 

Wrong. 

Steve stepped out from behind a tree, more into the dim moonlight, and the heavy coat did little to mask his newly toned physique. 

Bucky could still hardly believe that this was  _ his _ Steve, little Stevie, who he’d always had to protect when Steve’s short temper got too far ahead of his fists. 

This Steve didn’t need his protection, not anymore. 

“Figured I’d check in,” Steve continued. “See how you’re holding up.” 

Bucky didn’t lower his rifle. “Hey, Stevie,” he said quietly, knowing the other man’s enhanced hearing would have no problems picking it up. “Thought you were sleeping.” On the other side of their camp, for once. 

“What, I can’t worry about my best friend?” said Steve. “You gonna put that down?” 

The thing was, Bucky  _ knew _ Steve. Better than anyone alive — after all, no one would ever likely know Steve better than his own mother had — and this? 

This wasn’t his Steve. 

This Steve’s shoulders were bowed by some unseeable weight, his hair darker on the sides, his eyes a bit more lined and a lot more tired, and— 

Was he wearing a  _ suit _ under that coat? 

Bucky was pretty sure that was Dugan’s coat. 

…………...

“If I put it down, you have to promise me not to give me a reason to pick it up again,” Bucky said, and Steve could read suspicion in the tense line of his shoulders. He stuck his hand out in surrender on reflex. Bucky had known him since childhood and Hydra experimentation or no, those darting eyes had always been sharp.

“It really is just me, even if there have been some pretty big side effects to that serum I was given.”

Bucky lowered the rifle just a fraction, but his knuckles were still white where he gripped it. 

Steve knew that whatever version of Steve Bucky thought he was, he didn't trust him yet.

“Hmm… you wanted to check on me, you said? Something wrong Stevie?”

Steve couldn't help himself, he chuckled.

“Says you, wandering out in the woods late at night. Ain't nobody tell you that's how the boogeyman gets ya?”

Bucky let out an involuntary bark of laughter and his grip on the rifle loosened a little.

“I stopped being scared of the damn boogeyman when I was eight-years-old and you'll never let it go, I see now.” 

He smiled, a little calmer now he'd evidently decided why exactly Steve had appeared so  _ wrong. _

“Hey, Steve?” His voice was soft now, and in the dark his eyes looked almost wistful.

“Yeah, Buck?”

“I hope you remember those dance moves I taught ya, because I'd imagine it be pretty painful if you stepped on somebody's toes nowadays, huh?”

“I remember, Buck.” 

Did he  _ ever. _

But he couldn’t wallow in the past now — he was so far in the past  _ already, _ and Bucky’s eyes were fever-bright, watching him. This Bucky hadn’t been put through the tortures of the future, not yet, hadn’t had his flesh and bones torn from him, hadn’t had his own  _ mind _ turned against him, but— 

He also wasn’t the Bucky that Steve had grown up with, who’d gone off to war to keep Steve safe. 

“Figured it would be you,” muttered Bucky, and let his rifle down, hands resting on the barrel as the butt of it hit the dirt. 

His hands were shaking. 

Steve could see it, even in the dim light. 

“Figured what would be me?” prompted Steve, when Bucky stayed silent, and the other man blinked, as if startled that Steve was still there. 

“Didn’t ever dream of anyone but you, Stevie.” 

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. 

Had he— 

Really said that? 

“You’re my best friend,” whispered Bucky. “Always have been.” 

“Til the end of the line,” said Steve, and Bucky cracked a smile, but it wasn’t a happy one. 

It was cracked, just like he was. 

Shit, how had he not seen how broken Bucky was? Even then? 

“It’s always been you,” said Bucky, and shook his head slightly. “But hey, at least I can watch out for ya, when you’re charging off like a bullet on your own because you think you’re an army, and Steve,  _ Stevie, _ you ain’t, you just—” Bucky broke off, looking away, and his eyes were too bright. “One of these days I ain’t gonna be fast enough, and I don’t want to see you— I  _ can’t— _ see you go down. I can’t, Stevie.” 

“You won’t—” 

_ “How can you know that, Steve?” _ Bucky’s words were sharp, and too loud, and they both held their breath, listening to hear if someone had heard them, but the forest held only the sounds of the night, and Bucky heaved a sigh, running a shaking hand through his unruly hair. “You can’t promise that, Stevie. This is  _ war. _ People die, and I— the whole reason I went, was to  _ keep you from doing something stupid like getting yourself fucking killed.” _

“You… you said you were drafted,” whispered Steve. 

Bucky scoffed. “Don’t be stupid, Stevie,” he drawled. “I signed up, same as half the fools out here. Figured the more men we had, the sooner this stupid war would end, and you’d be— you’d be safe.” 

Bucky had— 

_ Signed up? _

“Just needed you to be safe,” said Bucky. “It’s all I ever wanted.” 

“Bucky, I—” 

“I thought I was dreaming,” Bucky continued, voice soft. “When you stood over me, when I was strapped to that table. Thought I was dreaming, because there was no way’n hell that my little Stevie would’ve grown up so big and jumped right into battle, but— there you were. And I must be dreaming now, Steve, because even you can’t move that fast from the camp to here, and you ain’t— something ain’t adding up. Gotta be a dream.” 

And he smiled, slow and sweet. 

“I missed you,” he said. “I ain’t glad you’re in this mess, but I— I’m real glad to see you again, pal.” 

“Bucky, I need to ask you— I’m not a dream and I need to  _ know _ , Buck, so forgive me if I'm crossing some line, but—”

“Spit it out, Rogers.” Bucky teased with a crooked grin, but there was a furrow to his brow that suggested he didn't really understand.

Steve paused as he attempted to rally all of the courage he had left in him to force out those words. Punching Hitler over two hundred times had never been this difficult. 

“Ain’t a line you can’t cross with me, pal.” 

Steve took a deep breath. All he had to do was ask, surely it wouldn’t be that difficult. It was just words, wasn’t it? A simple question. 

But—

What came out was— 

“I think I love you.” 

Bucky blinked. “I love you, too, Stevie, you know that.” 

Steve choked. “No, I— I think I’m  _ in _ love with you.” 

Bucky’s face creased in a grimace, slow and steady, and he looked away. “No, you aren’t,” he said quietly. 

Steve hadn’t intended to say that. But he  _ had. _

And he never had been one to back down from a fight. 

Because he  _ knew, _ now, what he felt for Bucky —  _ had been feeling _ for Bucky all this time — wasn’t just gratitude and brotherly love and whatnot for the one guy who had never, ever let him down. 

“I love you,” said Steve, firmly. “I think I always have, I just— didn’t understand what it meant.” 

Bucky was shaking his head, taking a step back, the butt of his rifle dragging in the dirt and leaves and mud. “Fucking dream,” he muttered, looking away, turning to  _ leave. _ “I can’t—  _ fuck, _ I can’t—” 

“Bucky,  _ wait—” _

_ “Oi, you bastard, where’d you wander off to?” _

Steve’s voice. 

Younger. 

More naive. 

Full of  _ hope _ that hadn’t been crushed by an ocean yet. 

_ “Buuuuuucky, where are you? Are you dead in a ditch somewhere, because I ain’t hauling your corpse along!” _ Dugan, that asshole.  _ “And who the fuck has my coat?” _

That was right. Steve —  _ past _ Steve — was already there. Already raring to go, armed to the teeth with his Howling Commandos at his heels, and— 

This Bucky, broken and shaken, stumbling back through the woods away from him— 

This wasn’t his Bucky. 

This Bucky  _ had _ a Steve, one who would watch him fall, and Steve couldn’t change that. Changing it could trap him in the past, torn off course from his future, and— 

His Bucky. 

_ His _ Bucky, who despite all the horrors that had been inflicted on him,  _ still _ always came home to him. To  _ Steve. _

And Steve had let him go. Had jumped into the past with the intention of never going back, and he’d  _ left Bucky. _

He’d thought— 

Since everything had changed so much— since _Bucky_ had changed so much—

That maybe there wasn’t a chance for them in the future— 

He’d been a fool. 

The only Bucky he had a chance with  _ had _ to be the one in the future, because no matter what, Bucky had fought his way home to him, and Steve— 

Steve had fought so hard to get him back, to get the one person from his past who had traveled — albeit on a harder path — to the future with him, and he’d almost thrown it all away for the nostalgia of the faded romances he’d never get a chance to explore. 

“Wait,” he called, softly, and Bucky paused, too far away, too distant already with his haunted eyes. “Here.” Steve shed Dugan’s coat, tossing it, and Bucky caught it, one-handed, too fast and too easily, and past-Steve had to have been an  _ idiot _ to have missed all the changes in his friend. 

“Thief,” teased Bucky, with the tiniest hint of a real smile, and Steve stepped back into the shadows as Bucky turned away from him again. 

Let him think it was a dream. 

But maybe— 

Let him dream— 

Steve tapped his wristband, punched in the coordinates, and let the past fade into the swirling brightness of the quantum realm. 


	3. Up and away, dancing on air

Those five seconds felt to Bucky like the decades they contained.

But the five seconds after that when Steve didn't appear were  _ longer. _

“Why isn't he back yet?”

Bucky heard an underlying worry in the undercurrent of Bruce's politely confused words and it did absolutely  _ nothing _ to reassure him when the scientist hit the machine in the exact same way Bucky used to do to his radio when it was on the blink.

Bruce must have seen whatever was going on with his face in that time but if he did, he didn't say anything about it.

When Bucky's mind began to whisper all those vicious ‘ _ What if…?s’,  _ he almost broke, but in a split second, all his breath and his hope flew back to him at once.  __

Steve appeared in a cosmic blink and landed, a little white-faced, on Bruce's platform. He grabbed onto the nearest arm for support; which happened to be Bucky's, for a brief flash, and Bucky was reminded of simpler days, before war and serums and Hydra. 

When Steve would grab his arm to get his attention as he pointed out some fancy art in an exhibit downtown, or at some brightly painted army poster that advertised a new pop-up recruitment centre nearby that hadn't caught any of his aliases yet.

Those memories felt more like a half-remembered dream, how old they were. But looking at Steve just then and realising how vivid that time must be for him now, Bucky just felt an aching sense of  _ loss _ , deep in his bones.

Bucky watched Steve brush himself off, and step off the platform, and as he caught his eye he almost physically flinched at the intensity of his gaze. But he didn't, because he was a super-soldier, but mainly because this was  _ Steve _ and if something got him to look at Bucky like that then he sure as hell wouldn't complain. 

“Buck—”

A chirp from all of their pockets signified a call from someone back at the tower; most likely either Fury, Tony or Nat, since they were the only ones who bothered to use the things.

Bucky wanted nothing less in the world in that moment than to have to check what it was whoever it was wanted, but before he had the chance, Sam did it for him.

“Stark says Fury's calling a de-briefing, since he assumes that as we're, and I quote, ‘not calling him, screaming’, that the mission went well.”

He directed this to Steve, obviously giving him the subtle out if he needed but Steve nodded, whatever had lit his eyes just moments earlier had entirely fizzled out.

Bruce started to pack his equipment away and Bucky occupied himself by attempting to catalogue any differences he could see in this Steve-- fresh from the past. 

Was the skin around his eyes tighter? Or was that just Bucky's fevered imagination? 

Was his stride more confident— no, more  _ determined _ ? Or was that just Bucky trying to read things in Steve that were never really there?

He  _ knew _ him?

Right—?

So why was it so hard for him to imagine just where Steve had gone, back in the past- or more accurately,  _ who  _ he had gone to.

Maybe it was because he didn't  _ want _ to imagine it.

Bucky wasn't an idiot. He'd figured Steve was going to try and start that nuclear life he deserved as  _ soon _ as that blonde punk had raised his hand to volunteer for the final mission.

He was going back to that girl of his; Peggy Carter. Wow, what a girl she had been and what an impression she had made on  _ Steve _ . Almost nothing made his eyes light up like the way they did when he had looked at her. 

He loved her, Bucky knew. And in his eyes, no one deserved each other more.

But there had been a moment, back in 1945, where he had thought—

Maybe—

Maybe one day—

Steve would look at him the same way.

And this was all ridiculous because Bucky was  _ lying to himself _ and of course that meant everything to him and he was an  _ idiot _ because there was nothing on this Earth that he wouldn't give for the man in the Captain America suit and Bucky had promised him that he'd stick around as he  _ let him leave without telling him how he felt.  _

He was jolted out of his thoughts as he felt a hand tap gently on his shoulder and then, when his attention was gained, squeeze it comfortingly.

“Are you alright, Bucky?” Bruce said.

Bucky hadn’t paid attention to the journey to the Avengers tower and while his assassin instincts screamed that that was incredibly dangerous the rest of him was too preoccupied with thoughts of Steve to care.  

Steve and Sam had evidently already made it upstairs and Bruce's concerned expression told him he had been lost in thought for a while; in the backseat of one of Stark's bulletproof cars.

Bucky nodded, not meeting his eyes, but he didn't have the face for lying and Bruce was a smart man, he saw straight through it. The scientist hummed in understanding.

“I'm guessing Steve had a bigger to-do list in the past than the rest of us thought, huh?”

Bucky thought about denying it, in case Steve didn't want anyone to know. But he thought better of it. Steve may not have aged physically in the time he had spent in the past, but experience changed you. 

Hell, Bucky knew exactly how tired  _ he _ felt after all the war and the fighting and the loss. He couldn't imagine what an extra lifetime had done to Steve.

He hadn't needed to wait for Bucky this time, after all.

“He had a date,” Bucky said. The words sounded dull, even to his own ears, and Bruce gave him a searching look. “We should…” Bucky jerked a thumb toward the door. 

There was still so much cleanup to do. 

The life of an Avenger was plenty free of glamour. Well, perhaps there was a touch in Tony's case but even billionaires look less then their best after a battle with the second most powerful being in the known universe. 

The compound was looking a lot worse for the wear, as well, and for the life of him, Bucky didn’t know  _ how _ they were going to rebuild. He wasn’t much of a builder. 

More of a breaker. 

“How long is this gonna take?” said Steve, and it occurred to Bucky that of  _ course _ Steve had been living there in recent times. Bucky had Wakanda, but he hadn’t really— had  _ tried _ not to worry too much about where Steve was sleeping those days.

Steve had visited him of course, along with some of the others, in the lull between whatever missions he fixated on. Bucky had plenty to do in Wakanda, what with his goats, but it didn't mean that he stopped looking forward to seeing Steve walk in through the gates and give him one of those bear hugs that would never stop feeling like a novelty, even seventy years after he had grown big enough to give them.

“Too long,” said Tony, the irritation clear in his tone and in the sharp movements of his hands as he swept through a projection from his phone. “Days, weeks, a month, maybe, if we rebuild to better specifications—” 

“So what you’re saying is, that we’re out of a home.” 

Tony glanced up sharply. “Never,” he said. “I’ve got property, no one’s going to be homeless.” 

That wasn’t what Steve had meant — Bucky could see it on his face. 

He could go back to Wakanda. The war was over — he wasn’t needed here— 

“Hey, we can head out whenever you’re ready,” said Sam, and Bucky was a goddamned  _ assassin, _ he  _ really _ shouldn’t be letting all these assholes sneak up on him. 

“We?” said Steve, and the word was both curious and  _ hopeful, _ like a  _ puppy. _

Some things never changed. 

“Bucky’s been sleeping on my couch,” said Sam, and heaved a sigh. “I suppose there’s room at my place for one more.” 

“Plus he’s got Netflix,” said Bucky, and Steve’s face lit up. 

“I still haven’t seen the end of  _ The Umbrella Academy,” _ he said, and Sam groaned. 

“That shit will give you nightmares,” he warned, and waved to Tony. “Hey, can we borrow one of these… he’s not listening.” 

Bucky lifted a hand, waving the keys he’d snitched. “Let’s go,” he said. Wasn’t much reason to linger, and he could see Pepper heading their way, her face stormy, and he did  _ not _ want to be there when she got her claws into Tony — for a talking to or a stripping down, he did not  _ care. _

“Do you think my bike would fit in the back of that one?” said Steve, a little dubiously, and Bucky eyed Steve’s bike, which had been knocked over but didn’t seem too badly damaged. 

“Maybe if we put the seats down in the back?” 

“Why don’t you take the nice car you had earlier?” complained Sam, and Steve wordlessly pointed to the vehicle, which had a chunk of concrete stuck through the roof. “Aw, shit. What a bummer. That was a nice car.” 

The bike fit — barely — when they shoved it in at an angle so they only needed to lower one of the seats and leave one for someone to sit in, since there were three of them and it had been a long time since Bucky had seen a car with three seats across in the front. 

But it  _ fit, _ along with a few things Steve had scavenged from the wreckage of the compound, along with Mjolnir — and  _ that _ was still a bit of a shock. 

“Holy  _ shit, _ that’s a  _ rat!” _ howled Scott, a bit distant and muffled but clear as a bell, and Bucky turned, spotting Sam and Steve doing the same, and they eyed the shorter man hopping up and down near the broken-down van. “A rat, that was a huge fucking rat!” 

“Don’t do rats,” said Sam, and got in the driver’s seat before either of the two supersoldiers could snag it. “Get in, assholes, I’m hungry.” 

Bucky slammed the back hatch shut and claimed shotgun before Steve could, and his friend shot him a dirty look before squeezing into the backseat. 

Sam started the car and pulled out into the driveway, and then onto the road. The car was silent for approximately thirty seconds before Bucky really considered what Sam had said.

“I want Romanian food.”

Sam didn't even glance over.

“Not a chance, Barnes.”

“I hate you.”

Steve's long-suffering sigh in response made them both chuckle. 

It felt like Bucky had stumbled upon something good for a change.

Yeah….

Pretty good.


	4. Can you give me a whirl?

“So one of you could take the bed, if you wanted. I don't mind the couch.” Sam's unexpectedly thoughtful brand of hospitality wasn't something Steve had been expecting when Bucky had mentioned he was sleeping on the man's couch. Especially since, if he remembered right, they hadn't seemed to hit it off when they met. Or anytime since, actually.

When neither Steve nor Bucky took up the offer Sam chuckled to himself.

“Never mind, I remember how you feel about feather beds, the both of you. Not that I blame you, but in case you change your mind I will mention that I specifically asked the store for the hardest mattress they had. Not quite the same, but I'm pretty sure those army bedrolls were made out of solid rock and a mattress like that would be hell to carry up the stairs.”

“I can sleep anywhere, I'll take the floor and Stevie gets the couch,” said Bucky, before Steve could even think about replying.

“But Buck, surely that does your arm no good? Lord knows the bedrolls leave a nasty shoulder ache in the morning, even without a vibranium arm. You'd be better off on the couch.”

“Just take the couch, Steve, before he takes that arm off and whacks you with it,” grumbled Sam.

“Can he— can you do that?” said Steve, turning to Bucky, and the other man kept his poker face in place, just to see him flounder. _“Can_ you do that?”

“How ‘bout we don’t find out firsthand,” said Sam, and Bucky cracked the first real grin he’d managed since Steve had stepped through that portal again.

He couldn’t deny that it felt _right_ to hear Steve breathing quietly next to where he was spread out on the floor, one arm tucked behind his head. The floor wasn’t as comfortable as his cot in the hut in Wakanda, but it was passable. He’d be able to sleep, at least.

If Steve would just quit _sighing._

“You gonna sleep tonight, or just keeping fillin’ the room with hot air?” said Bucky finally, breaking the silence, and Steve let out an affronted noise.

He looked stupid, with his legs hanging over the armrest, but Bucky wasn’t going to tell him that the sofa was a pullout bed if Steve wasn’t going to figure that out for himself.

“I'm sorry, I'll stop.” Steve sounded genuinely apologetic, he had obviously thought Bucky had fallen asleep already.

“Stop _breathing?_ Fat chance.”

“Stop thinking too hard, I mean.” Steve chuckled in the dark.

“Got a lot on your mind, Stevie?”

Bucky sure did.

Steve was quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Yeah, Buck, I do.”

“Want to talk abou—”

 _“Y’all are gonna have a lot more on your mind if you assholes don’t shut up and go to sleep!”_ hollered Sam from his bedroom, and Bucky snorted.

“Think we could take him?” he said, and Steve choked on a laugh.

“Maybe if we snuck up on him, I don't think a sleep-deprived Sam would give us the chance to beat him.”

_“I’ll take you both to the transfer station and throw you in the garbage myself!”_

“We should probably keep it down,” whispered Steve, and Bucky rolled over so he could muffle his laughter in his pillow.

 _“And someone’s gonna be grocery shopping in the morning because_ someone _ate all the eggs!”_

A beat of silence.

“That was you, wasn’t it,” whispered Steve, and Bucky couldn’t help but laugh.

 

……………….

  


“How long is that gonna be there?” grumbled Sam, crammed in the backseat because Steve had grabbed the keys first and Bucky had been halfway into the passenger seat before Sam had set down his coffee. Steve’s motorcycle had shifted a bit from the force of one of Steve’s hairpin turns, and while Bucky and Sam could cling to their seatbelts, the poor motorcycle was only able to slide into Sam’s knee with a squeak.

“That better not have been the paint, I just got that redone,” grumbled Steve, ignoring Sam’s none-too-kind mutters about his driving.

“Yeah, and _why_ did it need to be redone?” said Sam, the words very pointed, and Bucky slid a little lower in his seat, his knee pressed against the dash.

“This is the twelfth place we’ve looked at,” continued Steve, as if he hadn’t heard him, and Bucky remembered, vaguely, a much smaller Steve whose ears didn’t work that great feigning deafness whenever he didn’t agree with someone.

That sounded like Steve, for sure.

“Eventually are we all gonna agree on something, or will we be building an extension onto Sam’s place?”

Sam snorted at Steve’s words. “Not likely,” he said. “I already have renters lined up for next month.”

“Is _that_ why you’ve been so opinionated about every place we’ve been to?” drawled Bucky, and didn’t bother ducking when Sam pitched a wadded up McDonald’s paper bag at him — he missed. “Geez, Wilson, I would’a put more thought into our list if we’d known you were moving in with us.”

“Sorry, pal, all of these are two-bedrooms,” said Steve with a straight face, despite the last _eleven_ they’d been to having three or more rooms.

“I don’t know why I’m friends with either of you,” said Sam.

“We’re _friends?”_ said Bucky, a little mockingly, although it _had_ been the first he’d heard the other man refer to him as a _friend._

Huh.

How nice.

“Maybe we should find one closer to a garage, with all the squeaking going on with this fucking bike,” said Sam, “and worry less about the _cupboard spaces,_ you two old ladies. _God,_ do we _need_ that much cupboard space?”

“I want a lazy Susan cabinet,” said Steve firmly.

“And a spinning spice rack,” added Bucky.

 _“Old ladies,”_ said Sam again. “We can get a spice rack at an _Ikea,_ Barnes. God, what is it with you two and things that spin?”

“Stevie wouldn’t ride the Cyclone enough as a kid,” said Bucky, and Steve shot him a glare.

 _“Some_ one wanted to ride it four times in a row and _I_ was the only one who thought it was a stupid idea.”

“Stupid for your stomach, maybe.”

“You’re stupid.”

_“You’re—”_

“Oh, my god, you’re both stupid,” said Sam. “Steve, we literally just drove past the next address.”

Steve stomped on the brakes, Sam choked on his seatbelt, and Bucky regretted slouching so far in his seat. And of _course_ there was no one behind them, so Steve just—

Backed the fucking SUV along the road until they reached the correct address again.

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ,” wheezed Sam, unclipping his seatbelt and launching himself out of the car. “Give me the fucking keys, Steven Grant Rogers.”

The building wasn't as tall as the others that surrounded it, but it was clean and decorated in such a way that it exuded a quaint 1920s charm. Large bay windows and balconies peppered the grey stone as it stretched up into the sky and Bucky could see that some of the residents had chairs or small, but flourishing, planters lining their balconies, giving the building a layer of personality to it that the sleek glass things surrounding it lacked.

Sam was looking at a picture on his phone as they got out of the car.

“Yeah, this is the place, first impressions?”

The art deco brick patterns reminded him of Steve and his old apartment back in the forties.

_Home._

Well, this place certainly wasn't lacking the potential of that.

“Well I like it,” said Steve, and judging by the look he shared with Bucky, he too had seen the resemblance.

Bucky nodded, and a smile grew on his face.

“I could definitely be happy here.”

Before they could find their way inside, a tall, elegantly dressed and mousy-haired man came scuttling down the stairs leading to the building. He puffed a little as he reached them.

“Sorry I'm late. I’m afraid I had something urgently needing doing.”

Someone's car tyres squeaked nearby.

He extended a lined hand to Sam, with whom he'd spoken on the phone.

“ My name is David Szczurek. I'll be showing you around this lovely property today.”

He had a voice that was a deeper pitch than you would have expected from such a skinny man, and he nodded politely and grinned slowly, in that scarily cheerful manner that realtors have when Bucky and Steve introduced themselves.

“Lovely, follow me please.”

They followed the realtor inside to a bright and sparsely decorated lobby and he led them past a tiny elevator and up two flights of stairs until they reach a spacious landing with two polished wood doors breaking up the blue damask-patterned wallpaper.

Not too many neighbours then, probably for the best knowing what kind of hours they kept, Bucky thought.

The realtor pulled a slender key out of his suit trousers and unlocked the door to the left. It opened, and he led them into a living room that, no matter how much some poor soul had attempted to clean it up, was a sprawling mess of piles and piles of paper stacks and antique wooden furniture. Bucky was even sure he'd seen some sort of ancient bunsen burner tucked underneath one of the tall oak bookshelves. Bucky took a few paces around the room (as far as he could with all of the stuff lying around) and the wooden boards were solid enough that they didn't creak under his footsteps, and tried to imagine it without all the clutter.

The ledge by the window had obviously been designed as a seat when it was built. Throw away all the strange lamps that were on it and put a few cushions down instead and you had a perfect place for Steve to do his artwork, if he still did, that was.

Clearing out the fireplace wouldn't be too much of a hassle, especially as it looked like the original to Bucky, and he could see through a glass door across the room that led to the balcony that they had a clear view of the city which would likely be stunning as the night lights came on.

The realtor—David or something— looked embarrassed at the state of the apartment, but from the looks of it, Steve and Sam weren't too worried about it either. The room would look bigger once they had gotten rid of this stuff and it looked plenty big already. Bucky watched as Steve ran his hands over a particularly nice-looking vintage oak chest of drawers and Sam kicked at a pile of papers that were covering a stack of vinyls.  

They could make it work.

“I'm sure most of this would go for a good price on Ebay or something. Or you can always burn it,” the realtor said, and Steve looked up at him.

“All this stuff comes with the place?”

The man nodded.

“Yes, it does. Unfortunately the previous tenant— _vacated_ at quite short notice and didn't have anyone to leave anything to in his will, so we have to sell it with all his—” His slate-blue eyes swept the apartment with disdain, “— _possessions._ I think there's even a piano somewhere under all of this.”

Sam's eyes immediately started to dart searchingly around the room — that was interesting— but he was prevented from looking any closer when the realtor led them through the door on the left into the hallway.

Thankfully, the rest of the apartment was a lot freer from clutter than the living room. The kitchen-dining room, the bathroom and the three bedrooms would definitely need a fresh coat of paint and some life breathing into them but they were more than good enough for Sam, Steve, and Bucky's needs. The realtor seemed to be relieved that they hadn't been scared away by the mess but he still looked jumpy when Sam suggested that the three of them talk for a minute about how they felt about the apartment.

“Of course, of course. Take all the time you need!”

He gave them a squinting glance, which looked—if Bucky didn't know any better— like he was suspicious of them, and moved to wait outside in the hall.

“So what do you guys think?” Sam said, when they were alone.

“I like it,” Steve said, and Bucky could see by the crinkling at the corners of his eyes and the thoughtful smile playing at his lips that he really did. He understood why. There was something about this place that got him thinking he had a chance to put a lot of things behind him. They looked to him.

“Yeah,” he agreed, smiling. “It's almost perfect.”

“Great," Sam said. “Then we'll take it!”


	5. Kicking your heels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is finally some more dancing.

Steve dumped the last pile of old newspapers into the recycling bin — the one he’d already taken down to the dumpster twice — and heaved a satisfied sigh, eyeing the piano he’d finally finished clearing off. The key cover squeaked when he lifted it, and he poked a few of the keys.

_Plonk, plink, plonk._

Way out of tune, then.

Steve didn’t even know _how_ someone was to tune a piano.

    “That ain’t even _close_ to hot cross buns.”

Steve startled, stepping back from the piano, but it was just Bucky, closing the door to the apartment.

He hadn’t even heard the key in the lock.

    “You’re home early,” he said, as if Bucky had a set schedule — he didn’t — and Bucky heaved a cardboard box onto the top of the freshly cleared piano. “Hey, I _just_ cleared that off.”

    “Good timing,” said Bucky, dusting off his hands. “Got something for you, pal.”

    “Oh, you didn’t have to— _oh,”_ breathed Steve, as Bucky dismembered the box and revealed an honest-to-god gramophone, one that Steve could have seen during the 40s. It was _almost_ identical to the secondhand one Bucky had brought him, once, back when they’d shared an apartment, and he wondered if Bucky remembered it. “Oh, Buck, this is great.”

    “Now you can quit moping over those damn vinyls and actually use them,” said Bucky, and Steve didn’t waste any time moving to the bookcase where he’d stashed all the vinyls they’d found during the cleanup so far. “There’s a neat record shop not far from where I got this, too, y’should probably check it out sometime.”

    “That would be nice, Buck.” Steve offered him a warm smile, but Bucky wasn’t looking at him — he was surveying the half-disaster, half-cleanliness of the room. “Hey, before you say anything, it’s a work in progress,” he added, and slid the vinyl out of its slipcase, setting it onto the gramophone, and wound it up.

 “Ah, geez, _really?”_ said Bucky as the song began to play, and Steve just smiled wider, stepping back.

    “ _I'll be seeing you…”_

    The words drifted out of the speaker and Bucky might make a fuss but he was mouthing along to the words and Steve knew he had the song by heart. Old lady, indeed.

 “Should'a known you were one for Billie Holliday, Buck, what with all those mentions of blue-eyed boys.”

 He winked. And just like that it was like they were sixteen again and sweet and cheerful and _teasing_.

    “ _In all the old familiar places…”_

“Oh Steve, you know how much I can't resist a god of thunder. An’ if he's off home then all I've left is my vinyls.”

“That why you used to hide under the covers every time a storm hit and wouldn't come out until I promised it was over?”

    Bucky snorted and Steve broke. They laughed hard and until tears began to well up in the corner of his eyes. They listened to the sound of the gramophone for a beat, before Steve looked up, and saw that there was something different in Bucky's eyes.

   “ _That this heart of mine embraces…”_

“What is it?” Steve asked.

“Ah, nothin’ Stevie, just thinkin’.” He looked down at his shoes. “Kinda feels like we’ve done this before.”

“The cleaning?”

“The— music,” said Bucky, shaking his head with a slight grin. “Punk.”

“Jerk,” said Steve, out of habit, and Bucky tilted his head, just a bit.

“That’s familiar,” he murmured, and narrowed his eyes at Steve. “Didn’t you promise that dame a dance? Carter?”

Of course Bucky would remember _that._

   “ _All day and through…”_

“You finally keepin’ a promise?”

 _“Jerk,”_ said Steve again, and Bucky’s smile flickered wider, just for a moment. “I keep my promises!” Bucky raised an eyebrow at him, and Steve huffed a sigh. _“Most_ of them. I— owed her a dance, Buck. Had to keep that promise, at least.”

Bucky searched his eyes for a moment, expression thoughtful. “Well, I’m sure glad those dancing lessons stuck after all these years,” he said finally.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorta,” he said. “You didn’t quite get a chance to finish some of those lessons.” He tried for a smooth smile. “Think you could? Finish teaching me?”

   “ _In that small cafe… The wishing well...”_

“What, now?” Bucky shrugged. “Why not.” He stepped forward, suddenly so, _so_ close, and Steve didn’t know how he could’ve forgotten how blue Bucky’s eyes were. “C’mon, pal, ain’t got all day.”

“What, you got better places to be?”

“Maybe I do.” Bucky caught Steve’s hand, and he tried not to let his breath catch too audibly in his throat. “Ain’t enough time in a day to spend it all watching out for your six.” He cleared his throat. “Alright, you remember this?”

   “ _I'll be seeing you...”_

And he was moving, guiding Steve’s body with his own, and Steve was breathless with how easily they moved together.

This was _nothing_ like dancing with Peggy.

 _"Please_ tell me you didn’t step on her toes,” said Bucky, and Steve _laughed._

He felt so at _home,_ in the grungy, messy living room, dancing with Bucky to the scratchy sounds of the gramophone. A lot had changed — _they_ had changed — but it was still him and Bucky, against the world.

Billie Holliday had it right — he _was_ seeing Bucky.

_“I’ll always think of you that way…”_

He’d spent so long fighting to get Bucky back he’d almost missed _why_ he’d been unable to let go of the past.

    And it was this easiness — this _familiarity_ — that his bones had been aching for. A ‘ _shared_ _life experience,’_ as he had once described to Nat that had him helplessly anchored to this man—

_This Bucky—_

And somehow they'd both come out of this mess unharmed and in the future, in their own apartment and Bucky knew—he _saw him._ For everything that he was.

   “ _I'll find you in the morning sun…”_

Not Captain America, not a battle-worn man behind a too-small shield.

Not as a soldier from the 1940s, out of his time and frequently out of his depth.

    But as Steve Rogers, that boy from Brooklyn who knew how to fight for what is good _,_ and right and _just._ That kid who knew extremely well how important it was to stand up for what it is that you believe in, and against any others who would try and take it away from you.

But as someone who wanted nothing more after all of that, at the end of the day, to come _home._

And Steve looked at Bucky—

Bucky pulled him into a sudden twirl.

Eyes blue, smile soft and _oh god how he loved that smile—_

He looked at Bucky—

Tortured, stubborn, sarcastic, _beautiful_ Bucky—

And his heart said—

_Home._

_“And when the night is new…”_

And Steve tightened his grip around his partner's hand when he turned to face him once more.

Blue eyes found blue.

Bucky's expression was something else.

His lips were parted and the way he was looking at Steve—

The sheer, bright, burning _intensity_ of that gaze—

Well.

Steve's breath left him at once.

   “ _I'll be looking at the moon..”_

And Steve couldn't help it.

    Nothing they pumped into his veins would change his nature that at his very core Steve Rogers was _human_ and in Bucky Barnes’ case and in his life and in his arms he was help _less._

But he didn't need help.

Because Bucky had his back— would be _at_ his back, and in his home and in his _heart._

Till the end of the line, if Steve had anything to do with it.

    “ _But_ _I'll be seeing you.”_

So he leaned in.

 


	6. You're footloose and fancy free

There was still a lot of shit that Bucky didn’t remember, that he likely would  _ never _ remember, but this? Dancing with Steve across hardwood floors?  _ That _ he remembered. 

It was  _ natural _ for him to guide Steve through the steps, to nudge him into guiding  _ Bucky _ in turn once he’d figured it out, feeling the music move through him like it was in charge of his muscles and not his brain. 

Dancing had always come naturally to Bucky. 

Dancing with Steve? Just felt  _ right. _

Like coming home. 

Like a piece of him had been missing — not just an arm, but a part of his  _ soul _ — and was back where it belonged. 

And Steve was staring at him, gaze unbreaking and so  _ warm, _ and he was so goddamned  _ close, _ and was he— 

Was Steve— 

_ Was Steve going to—? _

_ “Will one of you motherfuckers help me with the groceries?!” _

“Oh, my  _ god,” _ whispered Steve, and his mouth was  _ so close to Bucky’s, _ and Bucky stepped back, letting go of Steve and taking a heavy breath. 

“You are  _ such an asshole!” _ he yelled, turning toward the door, and Sam glowered at them both, arms loaded with reusable grocery bags that were… rather overflowing. “Did you leave anything at the store?” 

The music stopped, and a glance out of the corner of his eye showed Steve to be next to the piano, his cheeks a little pink. 

Was he  _ blushing, _ or was it just the exertion of dancing? 

They hadn’t been dancing for  _ that _ long. 

Bucky felt a little warm, himself. 

“Some people seem intent on eating us all out of house and home  _ every damn night _ so I  _ planned ahead _ like an adult and got enough for  _ meals, _ not just snacks and one dinner. And I got some Star Spangled Fruit Loops because they had Steve’s face on them, and it was too funny to pass up.” 

“Oh, my  _ god,” _ said Steve again, and Bucky rushed forward, reaching out. 

_ “Where is it?” _ he said, and Sam shoved a bag at him. Bucky yanked out the box of cereal, and threw back his head and  _ laughed. _

“Can we frame this?” he said, and Steve snatched the box out of his hand. 

“We can  _ not,” _ said Steve, staring at the box’s front with horror. “What the hell is this?” 

“Artistic license,” said Sam. 

“A fucking  _ gem,” _ said Bucky. 

“I hate both of you,” said Steve, and took the box, and some more bags, into the kitchen.  _ “Both _ of you!” 

“You love us, admit it,” called Sam, and left the pile of bags on the floor. “C’mon, Barnes, come help me get the rest of this shit. I got more eggs, just for you.” 

“I love you, too,” said Bucky cheerfully, although he was still reeling from the almost-sorta-maybe kiss and  _ Steve blushing _ to really be too mad at the other man. Even hauling eight more bags each up the stairs couldn’t ruin his mood. 

The tipped over bag — one of the ones Sam had so carelessly dumped —  _ did _ ruin Sam’s mood, because a bag of flour had split, and it was  _ everywhere. _

“I ain’t cleaning it,” said Bucky, and Sam groaned. 

“I was gonna make pancakes with that,” he complained. “And where did the Doritos go?” 

“You got cool ranch, right?” 

“Nachos  _ and _ cool ranch.” Sam pointed at another bag, where the red Doritos bag could be seen. “Where’s the cool ranch?” 

“Maybe Steve has it.  _ Steve!” _ roared Bucky, and Steve poked his head out of the kitchen. 

“I’m not deaf anymore, Buck,” he said drily. “You’re gonna make the neighbors hate us and we’ve only  _ just _ moved in.” 

“Gotta save the neighbor-hate until at  _ least _ the second week,” said Sam. “Steve, did you take the Doritos?” 

“No. Did you get more pasta? We’re out.” 

“We weren’t out, we didn’t  _ have any, _ there was a difference.” Sam paused. “No. Shit. Someone else can go back, I’m done shopping for the week. Fuck, people are so rude in shops. This little kid nearly ran over my foot!  _ Twice.” _

“You probably deserved it,” muttered Bucky, and Sam glared at him over a gallon of milk. “Did you get chocolate?” 

“Chocolate or chocolate milk?” 

“Both.” 

_ “Duh.” _

And the bickering continued as they crammed the groceries into cupboards — and the lazy Susan cabinet tucked in the corner that  _ still _ had all the smiley face stickers Steve had stuck to it — and just like that, Bucky was home. 

 

………….

 

A blue bag of Doritos crinkled under the piano, unnoticed by the loud humans stomping around. One end of the bag was open, with crumbs strewn along the floor near the piano’s pedals, and in the bag itself was a rather large rat, contentedly munching away. 

 

 

 

**FIN**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all for part one, folks! 
> 
> **....TO BE CONTINUED......**


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